


Unexpected Guests

by GingerBreton



Series: Then I Met You [5]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Backstory, F/M, Gossip, Humor, Light Angst, POV Multiple, Pre-Relationship, drunken silliness between friends, it's a bit of everything tbh, look i got a bit self indulgent, mutual pining accidentally stumbled off into mutual thirst, some duncan related angst, spot the egg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26500312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerBreton/pseuds/GingerBreton
Summary: Ivy gets a surprise visit from a bored Piper while she's recovering from her injuries from Forest Grove.MacCready runs an important errand in Goodneighbor.What's a week off from adventures without a chance to catch up with old friends over drinks and maybe get a little bit of gossip?
Relationships: Robert Joseph MacCready/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Then I Met You [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813063
Comments: 18
Kudos: 23





	Unexpected Guests

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a self-indulgent split pov fic which has given me a chance to drop in a bit of character backstory, and separate Mac and Ivy and let them talk to other people about each other.

Ivy woke with a start, chest caught in a tight knot from the blinding flash relived behind her eyelids. Still clutched in her fingers from before she drifted off was an old photograph, faded by the centuries, but lovingly maintained. It showed a perfect nuclear family; a smiling husband--dark-haired, handsome and square-jawed--his arms wrapped tightly around the waist of his wife, her rich brown curls perfectly framing a serene expression of absolute love towards the baby cradled in her arms. 

_ Nate, Nora and Shaun Carroll - October 20th 2077 _ was written in neat looped script on the back - the precious memento had been pressed into her hands by Codsworth as she set out for Concord. Ivy could remember peeking through the blinds of Rosa’s living room - still recovering, still hiding from the world - and seeing them take that photograph. The laughter and the sweet ridiculousness of their Mr Handy attempting to take it first before they resorted to a neighbour. 

Her dream wasn’t of that moment though. It was of thundering knocking at her door, of propellers whirring deafeningly overhead, of Nora’s hand in hers dragging her up the hill to the vault, of her throwing more military legalese at the gate guard than Ivy could wrap her head around until the man let them pass. It was of being held tightly in the arms of a near-stranger as the light from a rising mushroom cloud burnt itself onto their retinas, and of a baby screaming in its father’s arms. 

Ivy owed the Carrolls her life. Not that the debt mattered much to the frosted dead eyes that stared back at her through thick glass when she fell coughing and half-frozen from her own metal tomb. It was in the ruins of what had been her sanctuary, that she promised Codsworth that she’d do everything she could to find the boy and bring him home - to whatever kind of a home this world had to offer. 

Sliding the photo onto her bedside table, Ivy checked her pipboy: 6pm. Shit, when did that happen? Last time her eyes were open it’d been 11. 

The dull thrum of conversation from the Dugout’s evening crowd drifted through the thin walls, punctuated occasionally by the proprietor's booming laugh. Even that was drowned out in the wake of the incessant knocking which shook the door. 

Her sleep-clouded eyes indignantly took in the lamplit room, wondering why her partner had put up with the banging as long as he had - MacCready’s patience was infinitely shorter than hers at the best of times - but her surroundings were severely lacking one mercenary. 

For a moment she wondered if it was him at the door, but he never knocked. Well, not unless he thought she might be changing. He’d learnt that one the hard way; wandering in on her in her underwear, the poor guy had been so caught off guard that, instead of running his smart mouth, he’d turned tato red and nearly smacked his nose on the door when he spun back around. 

Ivy pulled her flannel shirt into a more respectable position and swung her legs off the edge of the bed - bare skin instantly goosebumped by the touch of cold air, she dragged the blanket to cover them. As a second thought, she lifted her pistol off the bedside table and tucked it under the blanket, pointed at the door. 

“Who is it?” she called across the room at the now incessant knocking.

“Blue, it’s me. If you don’t open up soon, Vadim is gonna think you’re up to something disgraceful.”

_ Piper Wright _ . Diamond City’s version of trouble incarnate - if you were a corrupt official at any rate.

“It’s open, no need to bust out those fancy picks.”

“I would  _ never _ ,” the reporter grinned at her, slamming the door and leaning back on it. 

In Piper’s hand were a couple of beers – they were probably warm, and flat, but there wasn’t much more to be hoped for two hundred years after brewing. She raised an approving eyebrow when Ivy withdrew the gun and tucked it back on the table. 

Hazel eyes, keen with the spark of a bored investigative journalist took in the dingy room; rifles tucked under the bed, packs stowed by the unused chest of drawers, notepads strewn across the table next to a full ashtray and some nuka cola bottles, and a discarded pile of blankets on the sofa where the occupier had kicked them off. Piper frowned, but resisted the urge to lean closer and read the notes. 

“So, Blue, what’s kicking?” 

“Ha. Ha.” Ivy rolled her eyes, sticking her bruised and swollen ankle out from under the blanket. “You know, not much at the moment.”

Piper ditched the beers on the coffee table, then on second thought used one of them to prod the blankets out of the way from MacCready’s makeshift bed on the couch. With some effort, she helped Ivy hop over to sit in the space she’d made while she took the armchair. Passing Ivy the blanket beer, Piper kicked her feet up onto the table and twirled her own bottle in her hand, watching the flat liquid regain some of its fizz before taking a sip. 

“I heard a rumour you were back in town. Thought I’d check in on you, see if there was any news from Nicky.”

MacCready had promised to check for her when they got back to Diamond City, but the meeting had yielded little more than Mac’s frayed temper snapping at Valentine. Followed by a surprise apology from the mercenary. Maybe that was the gossip Piper had come for. 

“I’m sure you’d have heard before me if there was,” Ivy huffed. 

Passing Piper the photo of the Carrolls, she sank back into the cushions of the sofa and hugged her knee to her chest. “No, not a damn thing. It’s hardly surprising, if anything, my memory’s getting fuzzier.” 

Piper stroked her fingers across the glossy picture, a sad smile half-tugging at her lips.

“They look so happy.”

“They were.”

“Still nothing?” She glanced up at Ivy. 

There was less hope and more resignation in her eyes every time she asked the question. Back when Nick took her case, both he and Piper had tried to talk her through ways of recalling information, even small details, ways to look past the trauma. 

None of it had worked. 

“Just the voice.” Smug and malicious. Calling her the backup. “His face is still just blurry.” Even though he’d leant right in and tapped on the glass like Ivy was a goldfish.  _ Bastard _ .

“It’s not your fault, Blue. You’d already been through so much. That kind of trauma--” The look Piper gave her ached with pity, despite her attempt at an encouraging smile. “You found - you  _ rescued _ \- Nick. If anyone can help, he can.” 

“I made a promise, it just doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough.”

“You’re doing so much! We got the article out there.” 

Ivy shifted uncomfortably. “All that’s gotten me so far are commiserations.”

“I know saying you were his mom didn’t sit right with you-- I should have warned you.”

Piper reached out and squeezed her hand - it was an apology that came every time they saw each other following that first interview. A more extreme attempt to make it up to her, had been the trip across to Boston Common which had resulted in them fleeing to Goodneighbor back in October. 

“I don’t know if you noticed, Blue, but this world is kind of selfish. Honestly, I think people will be more likely to help this way.”

“I know… I know.”

“By the time we’re done, there won’t be a person in the Commonwealth who doesn’t know who Shaun Carroll is. We’ll get him back, I promise.”

“Thanks, Piper.” 

The reporter awkwardly cast around for something else to do, and settled on straightening out the notebooks; eyes that didn’t miss a thing, skimmed the scribbled maps and notes that Ivy had carefully taken down as Mac tried to describe Mass Pike from memory. 

Ivy flicked the book shut when that questioning gaze fell on her. 

“Not to bring up the elephant in the room…” Piper tried a subject change instead and nodded to Mac’s ‘bed’ on the sofa. “But weren’t you meant to be ditching the hired help once you found Nicky?”

“I never said that.”

“So what? You’re keeping him around because you like the stink of cigarettes and, I can only assume, wet dog.”

“Piper Wright, play nice! I know you aren’t his biggest fan, but MacCready watches my back.”

“He watches your butt, Blue. Or what is it you Brits say?  _ Bottom? Bum? _ ” 

Ivy tried to sound outraged but she was laughing too hard at the plumy queen’s english that just left her friend’s mouth.

“Piper, he does not.” 

_ Liar. _ She bit her lip, unable to keep the colour from her cheeks.

He did watch her ass, she’d caught him more than once. Sometimes he wasn’t even ashamed of it, although it was far more fun when he was. And maybe she did put a little more sway into her walk now and again, or lift with her back instead of her knees every so often. But what was the harm in that? 

“I should have expected you’d stand up for him.  _ My sources _ tell me you two showed up in town with him carrying you like a couple of honeymooners.” The reporter crowed smugly. 

“Because of my leg!” Ivy cried, responding to Piper’s dramatic spouting of mock-marriage announcement headline, with a playful shove. “And I know your ‘ _ sources _ ’ are Danny. I saw him gawking.”

“Speaking of Danny, he said your mercenary--”

“Not  _ my _ mercenary--”

“Whatever.” She raised an eyebrow. “Danny said he saw  _ MacCready _ head out this morning. Didn’t see where he was headed though.” Piper paused, scrutinising her between sips of beer, before her expression softened again. “You don’t know where he is, do you?”

“I’ve not seen him since first thing when he said he was going out. I never even thought he might  _ leave _ .”

“Leave,” Piper scoffed and chugged the last of her beer. Slapping her hands on her knees, she sprang to her feet. “You know what you need, Blue? A distraction. And something stronger than beer.”

After making Ivy swear she’d get up and showered, and watching to make sure she downed the last of her own beer, Piper left in as much of a whirlwind as she’d arrived, with a promise that she’d be back in twenty minutes with a change of clothes and Ivy had better be ready. 

* * *

Nothing says welcome like the stench of urine soaked garbage, MacCready had once complained to Ivy on one of their trips back to the inner city settlement, but despite the ever present smell of tomcat, Goodneighbor still felt like the closest thing to home he’d found in the ‘wealth. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he got  _ no _ sidelong looks, but fewer than any other settlement he visited, and at least these were somewhat based in fact. 

Despite the ache in his head from where a board had hit him, his dumb yet ingenious - if he did say so himself - plan to return to the re-supermutant infested library had paid off. Stowed safely in his pack was a pre-war map that covered the whole area around the Mass Pike Interchange. With it, they could plan a route to take on the Gunners without a repeat of their last disastrous attempt.

MacCready had slipped past the raiders and the mutants en route across Boston, tracing a route that he knew by heart from the months he’d spent there before meeting Ivy. It was late afternoon by the time he sauntered through the gate to Goodneighbor, whistling past the cigarette hanging from his lips. Other than the surly presence of the neighbourhood watch, the streets were quiet; the night owls weren’t up yet and the day drinkers had already shambled off to the Third Rail to dull whatever pain they kept tight-lipped about. 

That meant he wouldn’t have to wait for a quiet spell to drop in and see Daisy. It’d been too long since they’d stopped by Goodneighbor and he had a pile of caps burning a hole in his pocket, just waiting to be shipped back to the Capital Wasteland. Not to mention a desperate hope for news from home. 

“MacCready, long time no see.” Daisy leant across the counter of the discount store, beaming when she saw him. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about our little corner of the Commonwealth.”

“How could I forget about you, Daisy?”

“Nice try, kid. Don’t think I don’t know why you’re really here.”

She reached under the counter and produced a lockbox which clicked open with a key kept around her neck. MacCready grinned, its contents might be cargo precious to no one but him, but Daisy understood. 

He took the letter that had been locked safely away, dragging a thumb over the crayon doodles that covered the envelope before he tucked it securely into his breast pocket to read later when he got a moment of privacy. 

The old girl had always been good to him, ever since he staggered into Goodneighbor without a cap to his name, a wild look in his eye and Gunner blood on his face. She’d treated him like family with no explanation other than he reminded her of herself when she was younger – a fuck up too, he’d guessed at the time. 

On the anniversary of Lucy’s death, after more than a skinful, Mac had broken down and told her everything. Daisy let him cry it out, never passed judgement, and once his sobs had settled she told him the caravans owed her more than a few favours, handed him a pen and paper and said  _ write to your boy. I’ll get it to him _ .

So now, more than six months later, MacCready paid her back as best he could - by dealing with trouble - and she kept him afloat with a lifeline home.

“Here on your own?” 

“Yeah, the boss is laid up.”

The word ‘boss’ tasted odd on this tongue. It’d been a while since he’d used it to anyone other than strangers. It hadn’t felt like Ivy in a long time, but it was easier not to try and fumble his way through that explanation. 

Carefully checking they were still without an audience, MacCready emptied out every last cap he had - digging deep into his pockets and tipping out bags to make sure every last one was accounted for. Daisy wrapped them tightly in fabric to stop the telltale tinkle of metal on metal, adding more as he discovered them squirreled away in various places. 

“Laid up, huh? Sounds like there’s a story behind that,” she chatted idly.

“Just ran into some trouble on the way to take out some old trash.” Trouble, with any luck, they’d avoid next time.

“Gunners, huh?” Nothing got past Daisy. “Those boys might not be the brightest, but they’ve got numbers.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Daisy.”

“And what about your  _ boss _ .” 

_ Nothing _ got past Daisy.

“She sprained her ankle. Doc says she’s got to keep the weight off, that’s all.” His explanation appeared good enough for now. 

Next for the package were two envelopes; battered from being repeatedly crammed in pockets before anyone could see him writing, opened and reopened as he added more news while waiting for his chance to get to Goodneighbour and send them off. One was covered in messy scrawl addressed to Carys, the other he’d lovingly and carefully addressed to Duncan and was filled to the brim with adventures he wished he could tell his son in person, and a promise that daddy would be home soon. 

“Anything else?” Daisy asked, taking the toy car out of his hands and wrapping it with the caps.

MacCready patted his pockets down and felt the hard glossy sheen of a photograph that had remained stowed in his duster for longer than he’d care to admit. 

On their first trip to the library for Daisy, Ivy had found a working camera and he’d damn near blinded himself with the flash. After some ill advised chemistry experiments, her and Sturges had managed to develop a single unscathed picture; he was squinting, caught off guard by the sudden light, and tucked into his side was Ivy, smiling over at him like she wanted to laugh. The look had recently started to make the air catch in the back of his throat. 

He turned the picture in his hand, half of him wanting to send Duncan something more than words or toys to remember him by, but the other half didn’t want to let the picture go. 

“Wait.” 

Taking the cap stash back from Daisy, he removed 200 and tucked them back into his pack - it was about time he stopped hiding behind their initial arrangement. As much as he hated debt, he disliked the idea of Ivy thinking he was just there because she paid him, more. 

_ But speaking of debt _ .

He sighed and pulled out another 300. At least he could finally afford to pay off Whitey’s tab in something other than favours, even though he’d rather send the extra caps home. 

“Before you go wandering off with the look of a man who’s lost at cards, I’ve got a little something to send along to Duncan,” Daisy smiled.

She produced a couple of packs of gumdrops and one of snack cakes, and, most impressively, a pristine teddy bear. MacCready stared, speechless. Daisy had obviously gone to a heck of a lot of effort to clean up the toy and get it into good condition. He’d never have admitted it when he was a kid, but he’d have killed for something like that. 

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep back the threat of tears at the thought of Duncan’s face lighting up at the sight of it, and instead ducked around the counter to press a sloppy kiss to Daisy’s temple.

“You’re a doll, you know that right?” 

“I know. Now get out of here. I’m sure you’ve got plenty more important things to do than entertain an old ghoul.” 

Barely making it out of the doorway on his debtors traipse to the Third Rail, Daisy called him back.

“I think you forgot something.” She slid the photo across the counter to him, but had the grace not to tease him. “You be careful out there.”

* * *

“Gunners.” Ivy swayed gently on her barstool, carried on a breeze of cheap vodka and weak beer.

The Dugout Inn was a whole world away from the far shadier, but infinitely friendly Third Rail. That evening the bar was filled with its traditionally grumbling clientele, mostly spaced so that they wouldn’t be forced to interact with anyone they hadn’t specifically come to see. It was about as congenial as her old Metro commute - although commuters these days were more likely to eat you than glare if you tried to force them to converse.

The pair had been getting scornful looks from the second Piper half-lifted Ivy out of her room and to the bar, and that was a good few hours, and a bad few drinks ago. 

Dragging the sleeve of her rather too large t-shirt back up onto her shoulder, Ivy knocked back another shot of vodka and pulled a face at the burn in her throat - she’d assumed it would ease with regular applications of the spirit. Her theory was not panning out. 

Piper grabbed Ivy by the knees and twisted her so they were facing. The sharp movement nearly knocked her own shot flying, luckily the practiced hand of Vadim - who had learnt from the number of spillages caused by Piper’s over excited limbs - caught the drink before it had a chance to topple.

“Are you nuts, Blue? Why the hell would you go after Gunners?”

“Shh shh shh.” Ivy patted at her friend’s mouth, bemused at her lack of understanding. “They were bothering him.” 

Realisation slowly dawned across Piper’s as one hand fished around for her drink, eyes not leaving Ivy’s.

“It’s those big bastards from Goodneighbor, isn’t it? Damn, Ivy, you’re running around on that mercanar— mermenar—” Piper growled at the word that refused to untangle from her tongue. She threw back her rescued shot instead and tried again. “That merc’s vendetta? You remember  _ you _ hired  _ him _ , right?” 

“Yes, I remember I hired him. It set me back 200 caps.”

“Out of a grand. You sold that shiny laser rifle, remember?”

Ivy patted more frantically at her friend’s mouth in an attempt to stop her loudly spilling any more secrets, especially money related ones. 

With the stalls around the market closing and the rumbles of another encroaching winter storm bouncing off the stands outside, a fresh wave of patrons huddled into the muggy gloom of the increasingly packed Inn, bringing with them a cold, damp breeze that channeled straight to the bar each time the door opened. 

“Miss Wright!” 

This latest wave had apparently washed up Doc Crocker, who greeted Piper from somewhere behind Ivy. The man was a disconcerting sight at the best of times, smiling away like a used car salesman from under a pair of goggles he never seemed to take off - apparently not even in the darkened bar. He beamed across at Piper while he waited to be served.

“Doc. What brings you here?” she asked with the strained patience of a woman who had probably had this conversation many times before. 

“Well, I must admit to a small vice,” he tittered away to himself, as though answering questions they’d not heard asked. “A quick drink after work!”

“And the jet,” Piper muttered into her glass so only Ivy could hear. 

“You have marvellous bone structure. Beautiful…” Suddenly Ivy was trapped like a rabbit in headlights under the focus of those bug-eyed goggles. “But not perfect. You should stop by the Mega Surgery sometime.” 

The surgeon picked up his drink and wandered off to the couches to comment on somebody’s nose. 

Ivy prodded at her cheekbones and gave Piper a bemused look. “Well that was charming.”

“Oh, he’s harmless, Blue,” the reporter chuckled, reaching across to smush Ivy’s cheeks. “Aren’t you tempted by a little nip and tuck? Impress your mer--”

“Stop it or I will push you off your stool.” Ivy muffled through her forced pout.

“Come on, Miss Kendrick, a statement for the press… You can’t tell me you’re helping him for no reason.”

Piper didn’t see it, but MacCready was in trouble, Ivy knew that much for sure, but the extent of which was anyone’s guess. Trying to work out what was going on with the guy was like trying to put together a thousand piece jigsaw of throwaway comments, far off looks and names he’d whisper as he tumbled out of bad dreams, except she was missing the lid and all the pieces were baked beans. 

“I’m helping him because he asked. That’s basically all I’ve been doing for people since I defrosted, isn’t it? Build me a house, fetch me this paint, get that body out of the water supply.” Ivy ignored the horrified look on her friend’s face and topped up their glasses. “Isn’t it enough that he asked?”

“For you maybe, Blue.”

“Do you want me to call back Crocker? See if we can get your eyes fixed? Your hunger for a story is making you hallucinate, Miss Wright.”

“Fine. Go after your Gunners if you must.” She raised a shot with Ivy and waited for her to drink. “All I’m saying is  _ when _ you get round to it, the sex better be worth it.”

Ivy choked, spluttering on the alcohol that threatened close off her airway. She turned, slack jawed to her friend, fully aware from the hairs pricking up on the back of her suddenly overheating neck, that the entire queue at the bar had turned to look as well.

“Piper--” A hoarse chastisement was all she could manage.

Vadim’s booming chuckle cut across the bar before Ivy had a chance to gather herself enough to clamp her hands over her friend’s mouth. The women managed to glare him away before he was able to comment. He strolled off, still laughing to himself, to serve the last waiting customer - one of Diamond City’s security guards, a rare sight without a helmet on.

Poor MacCready had already been the butt of far too many of the bartender’s jokes about the amount of time she’d spent shut away in their room. Mac had given up trying to explain himself and by day three of her convalescence he was practically running through the bar to avoid the insinuations. This was going to make things a thousand times worse. 

Their reprieve was short-lived; Vadim reappeared with two glasses of good whiskey and a smirk that threatened to split his face in two. 

“From a not-so-secret admirer.” 

The bald security guard, who was obviously the sender of what Ivy fully intended to be her last drink of the evening, made no move to come and talk to them. He just raised his glass and gave them a nod - his expression unreadable behind dark glasses. 

Ivy and Piper raised their glasses and nodded in return before huddling conspiratorially. 

“You’re going to give me a reputation, Piper Wright.”

“Renting a room for a week with that mercenary is going to give you a rep--admittedly I’m not helping...” She gave Ivy a cheeky little grimace. “Ugh, Blue, why is there nothing interesting to write about? McDonough is shutting me down at every angle. So much for freedom of the press. I just want a decent story!”

Still hovering nearby, the bartender seized his moment to make a bid for 15 minutes of fame. It wasn’t happening.

“So, Piper, you have finally decided to come publish Vadim’s latest tale of heroism, yes?” 

“That’s not news, Vadim. We all heard about the nudity. And the coolant. Earl spread that one faster than a town crier,” Piper snorted. 

“See what I mean?” she sighed when Vadim had been successfully shooed away to the opposite end of the bar. “All I get are people telling me stupid stories like that. Whenever I publish the real deal. The truth about what’s going on in Diamond City, everyone looks at me like I’m mad.” 

There was something so miserable about seeing Piper dejected. Stuck in a room filled with her critics, not even managing to get a hint of gossip out of her friend. Ivy hadn’t been out drinking with a girlfriend since college, and the more she thought about it... Piper had braved this place with its bad beer and bitchy clientele to keep her company. The least she could do was throw her a bone, after all, two centuries is a long time to go without gossip and a giggle.

“You got me thinking and I have a very serious question.” Ivy downed the rest of her whiskey, which in hindsight was not supposed to be drunk that way. 

Piper perked up in an instant, leaning in close as Ivy beckoned her forward until their foreheads were practically touching.

“What is it, Blue?”

“What if sex  _ changed _ in the last 200 years?”

Piper’s snort was worth everything Ivy was going to have to endure. It was the loudest, most undignified, joyous noise, and set Ivy off cackling too. 

“I knew it! I knew it!”

“What? Shut up, I’m asking for a friend.” 

* * *

On the other side of town, it was getting to that time of night where MacCready needed to catch himself before knocking ash into his whiskey and picking up his ashtray for a drink. A good time of night.

“Not me, brother.” Hancock shrugged, leaning back on one of the tattered sofas in his rooms in the State House. “You think I go around paying off tabs? You’d drink me out of house and home.”

“You know it wasn’t that kind of tab.” 

Mac shifted uncomfortably, glancing across at Farenheit, who lurked in the gloom, leaning against the doorframe, her unimpressed expression lit by the glow of a cigarette. He’d been convinced it was Hancock when Whitey refused to give him a name. 

“I know, but I’d rather Charlie didn’t have to dispose of too many Gunner corpses either. They might decide it’s actually worth starting shit.” MacCready might have earned his place as a friend of the mayor, but Hancock wasn’t going to risk Goodneighbour to the Gunners. “Sure you aren’t missing the obvious?”

“Positive. She wouldn’t have,” he scoffed. “Ives had way too much of Charlie’s swill to remember my tab.” 

“I should be insulted,” Hancock drawled, without the slightest hint of offense taken. “Your doe-eyed vaultie talked Charlie into coughing up 400 caps for my warehouse job. You sure she was as drunk as you remember?”

“You shoulda seen her at the Rexford,” MacCready settled back into his sofa, wrapped in the warm embrace of a whiskey induced haze, a far away smile sneaking onto his lips. “One minute she’s swaying on her feet, the next she’s got old Fred to offer 500 caps for a trip to Hallucigen. She just smiled and told him it was hazard pay.”

A lazy grin spread across Hancock’s face.

“What?”

“Nothing, man. Just nice seein’ you something other than drunk or sour.” He got up and meandered over to the cabinet, fishing out a bottle to replace the whiskey they’d finished - an action that didn’t fail to get Mac’s attention. “How  _ is _ the new job working out?”

“Hope you’ve got enough of that to go around.” Without bothering to lean forward, he toed his empty glass across the coffee table for a refill. “Hate to admit it, but i’m actually enjoying the work.”

The ghoul raised an eyebrow at his mucky boots draped across the wood, but filled his glass anyway before kicking his own feet up. “Just the work hmm, nothing to do with the company?”

_ You don’t know the half of it _ . 

MacCready had been doing a damn good job of keeping things professional - harmless flirting didn’t count - but admittedly it was getting more difficult, and a badly timed return to their room had only complicated matters. In a matter of seconds, keen eyes usually trained to spot weakness and danger, had read details of his half-naked partner’s life that he hadn’t earned the right to see. She had three tattoos - knowing Ivy they had stories behind them, a couple of old bullet wounds had left superficial scars across her upper arm, not to mention the surprisingly distracting dusting of freckles. 

All things he shouldn’t hope to study slowly and in infinitely more detail. 

“The work is good.” 

“Ha. I knew it. Don’t tell me, don’t tell me,” Hancock chuckled. “She’s not as sweet as she seems. You’d never have stuck around otherwise, not unless you got to play bad influence.”

“She’s an angel.” MacCready smirked at the nickname that used to be taunt. He shook his head as an irrepressible grin cracked across his face. Damn whiskey making him loose lipped. And damn half-empty pack on Mentats - the ghoul was on the ball today. “But you should see her pick a lock. Those hands--” 

It had come as a shock, but a heck of a pleasant one, that Ives could work a lock faster than some professionals he’d run with. But the image that caught in his head was the way she dragged her teeth over her bottom lip when she concentrated, deft hands delicately coaxing the locking mechanism open. 

Once he’d cockily asked her if she could do it blindfolded and without missing a beat she’d told him she could do a lot of things blindfolded - it had made for a distracting fight through the rest of the raider camp.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth and concentrated on lighting his cigarette to avoid making eye contact with Hancock.

“Hey, distractions are good, man. You gotta enjoy your time on this earth,” the ghoul shrugged. “I admit, we half-expected to see you back here by now. The boys had a sweepstake on how long it’d be before that sweet boss of yours sent you packing.”

_ Of course they did _ .

“Oh yeah, who’s winning?”

“Yours truly. Everyone else thought you’d be back by now.”

MacCready laughed. If you asked around Goodneighbor about him, most people would tell you “good shot, bad attitude”. Didn’t matter if they’d met him or not, word travelled fast and reputations tended to stick. He’d been a defensive son-of-a-- well, his attitude hadn’t won him any popularity contests. 

“Sorry to disappoint but you’ll be waiting a little longer for your payday. We’ve still got jobs planned.”

“I heard you were looking to make a move on the Gunners.”

Mac had given up long ago being surprised by the things Hancock heard on the grapevine. 

“That’s the plan. Why? You’ve not had any more trouble from them, have you?”

“Not since you left. They’re watching, but then they’re always watching. It’s the super mutants that are giving us more trouble these days. Gotta say, we miss your gun on the defences.”

MacCready grinned. What little work he’d managed to get out of Goodneighbor, despite his Gunner background, had been from people seeing him in action during those raids. Although drifters and drug dealers didn’t bring in the steadiest or best paid work. 

Leaving Goodneighbor with Ivy had been a longshot, but then again those were his specialty.

“Any news from home?” 

Daisy wasn’t the only one who knew what drew him back to Goodneighbor so often. 

MacCready fished the latest letter from his breast pocket, running a calloused thumb over the doodles on the envelope. “Carys says he’s ‘pretty stable’ - whatever that means - and he misses his daddy.” 

She’d said other things too, mostly shit he didn’t understand like the boils had spread from his axillae and groins, but she was keeping an eye on them and they weren’t causing more issues.  _ Yet.  _ And that Duncan was still on his feet, but it was taking a lot of physio and he was hating it.  _ He throws the kind of tantrums baby you would be proud of, MacAttack. _

“And he still wants a puppy.”

MacCready bowed his head, the bridge of his nose pinched tightly between his finger and thumb, like that was ever gonna stop the tears prickling his eyes. Carys - or the ‘lone wanderer’ as she was known to people who never bothered to get to know her better - was the only doctor he’d trust anywhere near his son. She and her wife hadn’t hesitated to open their home to his little boy, to look after him while MacCready headed north. But Carys was never one to mince her words. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that leaving the Capital Wasteland meant that there was a risk Duncan could die without him there.

“So.” Hancock wasn’t one to mince his words either. “You made any progress on that cure?”

“You think I’d be sitting here getting drunk with you if I had?” he snapped, then sighed. “Without Sinclair’s password it’s fuh-- it’s pointless.”

Trust issues and desperation were an ugly combination, but he’d had them in spades when he’d landed in the Commonwealth. Sinclair and his partner had looked no better than kids wearing pots and pans as homemade armour. Freaking useless. There was no way he was going anywhere with those amateurs, but that hadn’t stopped him trying to beat them to the prize, only to realise he’d never get through security without a password - one Sinclair had neglected to mention when they proposed the team up. The hoards of ferals were just the icing on the cake. There was no way in hell he was getting in there alone. 

On the brightside, if there was one, there was no way they’d have made it through those ferals if he couldn’t. So the cure was still there, just waiting for him to find a way in. 

“You know what I’m going to say, but I’m going to say it anyway.” Hancock took a long drag of his cigarette then folded his arms, black eyes studying MacCready intensely from under the shadows of his hat. “You were saving caps to hire some guys to get you into that lab, but you’ve got a partner who - from what it sounds like - would help you for free. What’s stopping you asking?”

“I nearly got torn apart last time I went there.” 

He slammed his glass down, a wave of amber liquid sloshed across the wood. Shame reared its ugly head as he tried to forget that he  _ had _ tried to get Ivy to Malden. And he’d lied to her to do it. But that was before she was more than just a job. His alcohol fogged mind drifted back to the tears that spilled from earnest brown eyes when she told him she thought she’d got him killed. 

His voice cracked, “I can’t watch it happen again.”

MacCready stood suddenly, the room giving an indignant whiskey induced spin. Once his eyes could focus again, he checked his watch: 1am. “I should get back.” 

At the door he turned, remembering his manners. “Thanks for the drink, Hancock. Sorry about the…” - he waved vaguely - “everything.” 

“No harm done,” Hancock smiled calmly. He was always hard to rile, not to mention better at holding his drink than the mercenary. “Hey MacCready, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

* * *

It was late - or possibly early - when MacCready finally made it back to the Dugout. On the brightside, he was in one piece, having luckily skirted round any trouble while crossing Boston under cover of night. On the downside, he looked like he’d swum up the Charles rather than walking - the storm that had finally broken when he was halfway back, and even the brim of his cap was sagging under the weight of water. 

He found his partner fast asleep, still fully dressed - in clothes he didn’t recognise - curled up on top of her covers. She hadn’t even stirred when he kicked the door shut. The bottoms of her feet were grubby like she’d been out of the room barefoot - must be what Vadim looked so entertained about when he wandered through the bar. 

Smiling to himself, he dragged a free corner of the blanket over her before kicking off his boots, ditching his sodden coat and hat and collapsing back onto the couch. If his luck remained, maybe he’d sleep through any potential hangover.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this or want some more Mac and Ivy in your life, pop over and say hi on tumblr. My fallout blog is @Third-Rail-VIP That's where I post all my art, asks, screenshots and videos.
> 
> This was just meant to be a mini fic to fill a gap between forest grove and mass pike, but it grew! But it ended up being a nice change to throw in some backstory and character lore that I haven't managed to fit into the rest of the fic so far. Plus we got a cameo and some references for further down the line, so I'll let myself off with my self indulgence.
> 
> This is also my first time writing Piper and Hancock. I will get better XD
> 
> I'm sorry it's taken me so damn long to update. It's been a bad brain month (or so) and I didn't actually manage to write at all for weeks, so thanks for sticking with me! <3 I'll probably have a lull again in October because I'll be doing OTPtober art over on tumblr.


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